


memories of you

by magumarashi



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Pining, Viera Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), anyway, the delicious dramatic irony of talking about your crush to someone who is your crush in disguise, which i tag only because i mention haurchefant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26335663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magumarashi/pseuds/magumarashi
Summary: It's the first night Lakeland has seen in a hundred years, and Aoife Asturmaux can't sleep. The irony is hardly lost on her. For a comfort, at least, it would seem she's not the only one having a sleepless night...
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33





	memories of you

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started and finished writing this before I finished 5.0, bc "the crystal exarch is actually a cute catboy" was the reason i signed up for this damn game in the first place. but, I held off posting this until I got done with 5.0 in case there were details I needed to change, and there were! thank you, foresight
> 
> For context, my WoL is a Viera named Aoife Asturmaux. (Her first name is pronounced "Eefa".) I put her backstory on [the Lodestone](https://na.finalfantasyxiv.com/lodestone/character/27819823/) so I won't repeat it here; the only detail I feel is relevant is that she grew up in Coerthas (and thus isn't used to being around other Viera). Also for context, Aoife previously had a brief romantic relationship with Haurchefant.
> 
> it's not required reading, but this fic does reference [this one](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24188173), because I continue to be a self referential nightmare

There was an irony to it: the first real, dark night that Lakeland had seen in a hundred years, and Aoife Asturmaux couldn’t sleep.

After growing accustomed to life on the First—to the grim reality of a world left in tatters, to the days that never seemed to end—the return of night should have been a comfort to her. It certainly was for everyone else in the Crystarium, seeing the stars and the blackness of night for the first time. She wondered if they would know _how_ to sleep when darkness fell; whether their bodies would fall into the ancient rhythm of wake and sleep as though the Flood had never come. 

She thought her own body would return to its natural rhythm with night returned, but for some reason sleep yet eluded her. After a few restless bells in the Pendants, Aoife at last decided to stop trying to coax herself to sleep. She carefully slipped outside, trying not to draw too much attention to herself. None yet knew that _she_ had been the one to bring back the night, of course, but all had heard she had fought on the front lines at Holminster Switch. She didn’t feel up to regaling strangers with half-true tales of what had happened there. 

Luckily, Viis were common sights here. She was able to move around largely unnoticed.

Aoife wandered the Crystarium, aimlessly—even at this late hour, the markets hummed with activity. Some were certainly revelers winding down from hours of carousing, but more seemed to simply be those who were normally awake at this time, carrying out their business as usual. Her walk took her to the Aetheryte plaza, and then up the stairs, away from the noise and festivity (a particularly raucous group had set up around the Aetheryte itself, popping bottles of champagne and setting off sparklers that showered the crystal in confetti. She felt for the poor sod who’d have to clean up their mess come morning). 

As she climbed the stairs, she was struck by the view at the top: the Crystal Tower stood before her, glowing like a beacon tall enough to split the sky in twain. 

Aoife found a quiet spot along the railing and leaned forward, resting her arms on the wrought iron beams. Thinking on it, it had been some time since she’d last gazed upon the tower from so close a vantage point. She often spotted it from malms away in Mor Dhona or Revenant’s Toll, but she’d rarely had occasion to go up closer to it. Not since her dear friend had locked himself away…

The sight of the tower never failed to bring back memories, distant though they were now. There were the times she’d ventured inside with Cid and the rest, spurred only by the spirit of discovery (and, if she was being honest, a healthy thirst for adventure)—but there were also the times they’d come up empty-handed, and returned to Revenant’s Toll to regroup. The evenings spent in the Seventh Heaven, telling an eager G’raha Tia about her adventures with the Scions. She could still remember the way his odd eyes seemed to sparkle, listening to her tales of derring-do and adventure in the far corners of Eorzea. Even if she wasn't always so sure of the words, he was patient with her; whenever she felt uncertain of what tale to tell next, he would ask about something else, and so their conversations would flow… 

Those had certainly been the days. It was almost funny, looking back on them: she’d practically been as green as they come when the two first met. Fresh off the miraculous victory that first brought her to fame, still wearing mismatched gear and fumbling with her lance on occasion. And yet he’d admired her still, almost in spite of it. Even when she recounted her follies and foibles, it didn’t seem to affect what he thought of her. Looking back on it now, it was easy to see how thoroughly she’d charmed him—and he her, if she was being honest. His enthusiasm had been infectious; his encouragement heartening. Not to mention the way his ears wiggled when he laughed, the way his tail batted back and forth when she was telling a particularly enthralling story… It warmed her heart just to remember it.

She’d planned to ask him to join her, once everything was done: carve out a few adventures for himself, see the world by her side. Would that fate had been so kind… 

“I thought that might be you. What are you doing up so late?”

Aoife jumped and whirled around—the Crystal Exarch approached her with measured steps, his mage’s cane in hand. In the dark it was even more difficult to make out his face under his cowl. It could have been a trick of the light from the tower, but the crystal encrusting his features seemed to glow, faintly; though even this feeble light failed to illuminate anything that could identify him.

“I could ask the same of you,” Aoife responded, smiling. “Don’t old men need their sleep?”

The Exarch laughed at this, lightly.

“I’ve had enough sleep to last a lifetime,” he said, in that cryptic way of his. “Moreover, I believe I asked you first.” 

“Right…” Aoife turned her gaze back toward the tower. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came out to get some fresh air. Before I knew it, I was standing here…”

“I see,” said the Exarch. He approached the railing, though still keeping some space between them. “Might I ask what was on your mind? You were gazing so wistfully at the tower, I couldn’t help wondering what you were thinking about…”

“Ah…” Aoife grimaced, slightly, before giving the Exarch a wan smile. “I was just thinking about my friend, is all… G’raha Tia, I mean.”

“G’raha Tia…” the Exarch echoed. “I recall you mentioned that name to me ere you first came to the Crystarium. He had some connection to the Crystal Tower on the Source, I gather?”

“Mm,” said Aoife. “Allagan royalty. It’s a long story…”

“I would hear it, if you don’t mind sharing.”

Aoife looked over at him, wondering how much detail she ought to go into—certainly the Exarch had better things to do than listen to her prattle on about old flames? But the Exarch merely watched her quietly; expectantly.

“Well,” said Aoife, trying to decide where best to start. “We met on an expedition into the Crystal Tower…”

It had been an age since she’d told anyone this story in full. Aymeric had heard parts of it over dinner, and she’d swapped an anecdote or two with the Ironworks folks whenever the Crystal Tower came up in conversation. Every so often she’d mention it to the other Scions, but for the most part it was an adventure she’d largely undertaken herself. Now that she thought of it, the only other person to hear the full story of how Aoife had met G’raha Tia was no longer among the living.

Aoife spared no detail, for the Exarch had indicated that he was interested in hearing it all. She told him of how the two first met, how she’d heard his voice among the trees in Urth’s Fount and braced herself for another self-assured rival like Estinien had once been. When at last they did meet face to face, however, she was surprised to find G’raha Tia to be a warm and charming companion—if not a somewhat overeager one, spurred on by the prospect of new knowledge. The two grew closer over the course of their expeditions into the tower… 

But of course, these halcyon days were not to last. G’raha Tia’s quest to learn more of the tower revealed that Allagan blood yet flowed in his veins. With the tower on the brink of collapse, he was the sole person with the power to set things right. Even now, years later, Aoife could still remember the look on his face as he said his farewells. The sound of those golden doors swinging shut behind him… 

“To be honest,” said Aoife. “It’s because of him that I can tell you all this now, Exarch. I was much more withdrawn before I met him, but he encouraged me to open up and speak of my adventures. He helped me find the confidence to speak my mind.”

“... I see,” the Exarch responded. “This G’raha Tia must have been a great friend to you, Aoife. It’s plain in the way you speak of him.”

“Mm. He was more than that, though,” said Aoife. “He was my first love—not that I ever had the chance to tell him as much. Nor did I realize I felt that way until he was already…”

“Ah,” said the Exarch. “That is. Somewhat unfortunate, isn’t it…”

“It is,” said Aoife. “I was a right mess afterward. Drank for three straight suns, if you’ll believe it.”

“I hardly blame you.”

“But the pain has dulled somewhat, over time. And knowing that he’s still alive in there is a comfort, even if he’s beyond reach.” Aoife drew her arms tighter around herself. “I may never see him again in my lifetime, but believe me, watching your beloved die is so, so much worse…”

“I can only imagine,” said the Exarch. “I apologize for bringing up such painful memories…”

“It’s alright,” said Aoife, waving him off. “How were you to know?”

For a few moments there was silence between them, and Aoife wondered if she’d said too much—she had, after all, divulged some particularly personal details of her past. To someone she barely knew, no less. She worried she’d overstepped her bounds and thought to say something make up for it, but as she waffled over what to say, the Exarch opened his mouth to speak.

“It may not be my place to say, but… I shouldn’t be surprised if G’raha Tia is thinking of you even now, just as surely as you’re thinking of him.”

Aoife couldn’t help snorting.

“Thinking of me? He’s asleep, Exarch.”

“True,” the Exarch continued, undeterred. “But even those in sleep’s embrace yet dream, my friend. If you made as strong an impression on him as he made on you, then I’ve no doubt he thinks of you still.”

Aoife had never thought about it that way before. It sounded like wishful thinking, but at the same time, she found herself hoping it was true.

“Thank you…” she said quietly. “I can only hope you’re right.”

Aoife straightened up and gave a yawn and a stretch; her body seemed to finally be realizing its own fatigue.

“I think I’m going to head back to the Pendants,” she said. “Um… Thank you for hearing me out tonight, Exarch. It meant a lot.”

“Of course,” the Exarch responded, his lips turning up in a smile. “I’m always willing to lend an ear, should you need one.”

“Mm,” Aoife nodded to him. “Don’t stay out too late.”

“There’s no need to be concerned for me,” said the Exarch. “But I do appreciate your concern all the same.”

“Alright, alright. Goodnight, Exarch. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Aoife was already turning to leave as the Exarch quietly voiced his reply:

“Goodnight… Aoife.”

She stopped in her tracks, ears twitching. Why did her name sound so familiar in his voice? She turned around to make sure her ears weren’t playing tricks on her. The Exarch tilted his head, curiously, his face still hidden in the shadow of his hood. Not even the dim glow of the crystals on his cheek betrayed his features.

_It couldn’t be…_

“Is… something wrong?”

“Oh, no, it’s just…” She couldn’t tell him, could she? That for a fleeting moment his voice had reminded her of G’raha Tia’s? “Nevermind. Goodnight, Exarch.”

With that, she turned on her heel and hurried back toward the Pendants, heart pounding in her chest. She barely noticed the still-going crowds of revelers and residents lining the way back to the inn. If any of them had called out to her, she wouldn’t have heeded—too many thoughts spinning in her head to give her attention to much else.

_It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be._

_He said the tower was empty when he summoned it. He said he’d never heard that name. He’s not even a Miqo’te—no ears in his hood! No tail poking out from his robes!_

_But._

_But if it really IS him, why would he go to such lengths to…?_

* * *

The Crystal Exarch watched her go, quietly, noting the obvious urgency in her steps until he could no longer hear them. He wondered whether he’d said something wrong. Whether he’d overstepped his bounds, prying into her personal life as he had.

Or whether, despite everything, he’d given himself away in calling her by name. Whether that was what he’d wanted all along—for her to know him as he was. 

“No… It's better that she doesn't know,” he murmured to himself. “She cannot know. Not with so much at stake…”

He lifted a hand to his chest, bunching up his robes in his fist.

“But, oh… by the Twelve, what I wouldn't give…"


End file.
